Little Miss Pope
by xXxfiredancerxXx
Summary: A short story. A CO walks unexpectedly into his life, and suddenly he's nervous. Sorry about the shit-tier title, I'm publishing this as an idea I cannot escape from in order to get it off my mind so I can complete my other story. Please enjoy and give me some feedback.


"Little Miss Pope," T-Bag's voice crawled around the cells as nightly rounds were made. "I got something for you, right inside my cell." Michael scowled as the man sang quiet, perverse songs to the officer.

Blinking as light blinded him, he saw the silhouette of a thin, short women. The light passed to Sucre, who covered his eyes. "Ooh, looks like the lady's back."

"Who is that?"

"That's Pope's daughter. She's a correctional officer, been here for a while."

"I've never seen her."

"Avocado stabbed her. I did not think she would be coming back." Sucre climbed into his bunk. "I like her though, she cares."

"Hm," he rested his head on the bars and watched as the figure continued through the corridor of cells.

•••

Morning came slow for Michael, he felt groggy and grimy. "Mr. Scofield, time for your shot." She had the kind of voice that made him want to listen.

"I didn't know the Warden had a daughter." He said as they made a long trek to the infirmary.

"Technically, he does not. He's my foster father." Nodding, he studied her face. Large, bright, gray eyes examined everything as they walked. She wore no make up he could see, but her features were defined and well groomed. Coppery hair was collected in a large, braid under one ear. She was, Michael had to admit, rather cute.

She was remarkably thin, but the grip on his arm suggested she was athletic. "I haven't seen you before."

"Get used to it, then, because I'll be taking you here every morning and checking on you every day." Blood freezing, he slowly looked at her. "Something wrong, Scofield?"

Trying to feign a calmer appearance, he half spoke, half whispered. "Call me Michael."

His brain was whirling, nausea set in his stomach. Her eyes had hit something deep inside him. "You're pale, Michael."

"Am I?" he smiled at Tancredi who quickly inserted the needle and motioned to Pope to escort him.

"So, what's your name?" Her eyes flicked over to him at the question.

"Riley, but only use that if we're alone."

"Got it. You went to Loyola?" He stared at the keychain.

"Uh, yeah, I did."

"So did I. What was your major?"

"Criminal justice and Psychology. You?"

He stared at her again, wondering what she was doing as a C.O. with those degrees. "Engineering. So, what's a smart college girl doing working in a prison?"

"I'll tell you when you're older." She smiled and dropped him off in his cell.

•••

"Touch my ass again, and I will, a: break your arm and b: file for sexual harassment. Got it?" He breathed in as Riley marched past him, Bellick in tow.

"Got it." He was sneering, visibly staring at her as she walked. A fire pent up in him, Michael would have given anything in that moment to attack the piggish man. Her grip tightened on his arm as they walked to Sarah's office.

When Bellick turned the corner, he heart her breath ease. "He's worse than half the inmates."

"I'm sorry you have to work with him."

"Me too." She laughed, a clear and sweet sound. Maybe it was the time away from pretty, laughing girls, but he wanted to throw up. "Are you okay?"

"I'm nervous." He admitted.

"You're not afraid of needles are you? You look sick every time we get close."

"It's something like that." So close, he could smell the lavender and vanilla, he could feel the warmth radiating from her hand.

"I can't wait for the day I don't see you anymore." She spoke suddenly, like a thought that couldn't be avoided.

"I don't like the sound of that." He gave her a small grin. "Humor me; why not?"

"I hate seeing your face behind bars, and I hate seeing you in cuffs, and I hate that such a nice guy is in such a filthy place. I anticipate the day I don't have to see your face."

"I'll tell you what. How about, when I get out, I take you to dinner, because I like seeing your face in here.

"Mr. Scofield, are you flirting with me?" He chuckled at her. "It's a date." She held her finger to her lips. "A very secret date."

He was still smiling as the needle slipped into his vein. Riley laughed at him through the window. "Don't forget she's your C.O." Sarah said, all but pushing him out the door.

"When are you going to tell me about how you ended up in here?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at the woman.

"When you're older." She said again, smiling.

"I like puzzles, you know." He whispered as she closed his cell and walked away.

•••

The heat was almost overwhelming. Riley stood in line with the rest of the C.O.'s, sweat was dripping down her face, her cheeks were slightly flushed. Michael was panicking, he hadn't anticipated her being in the wing as the riot broke out.

T-Bag was screaming, he spat at Riley, who gave him a slow, look that sent a chill down Michael's spine. "Don't worry about her, she's more capable than the rest of the blue boys." Sucre said, following his gaze.

"That's not saying much." He muttered.

Then it happened. He saw Riley spin on the ball of her foot, T-Bag was charging her, he felt a scream tear from his chest, but it fell silent. Everything went silent, T-Bag hit the floor, Riley pulled her kick back in, an arctic stare on her porcelain face. Then hell broke loose.

"Go, go, go." Sucre urged him on, through the hole as inmates began to pour out onto the officers. His heart was pounding. He doubled back to watch as Riley tossed a man to the ground and expertly disarmed another.

Then it was work time.

Sweat pooled in the hollow of his collar bones, his shirt stuck to him.

In the back of his mind he knew something was wrong. He handed the drill to Sucre and ran back to his cell.

Four faces looked down at him. He breathed out at John, and closed his eyes at T-Bag, a C.O., and Riley. Blood was pouring from her mouth, T-Bag had her handcuffed to the bunk, still she raised an eyebrow at Michael, "Really?" He was taken aback at the amount of sass in her voice. "Really, Michael?" Crimson dripped from her eyebrow, down her bruised cheeks, and from a long gash in the sleeve of her uniform. Red hair flowed to her waist, he was taken aback by how immensely beautiful she was.

Through a dry throat, he voiced, "I can explain everything."

"You don't gotta." T-Bag grinned down at Riley, who gave him a calm, daring stare.

"Unlock her." He stood up, "Unlock her." His nose was pressed against the other con's. Holding his hands up, T-Bag slid the key from under his sleeve and unlocked the cuffs on Riley's wrist. "Come with me." he pulled her into the tunnels. "Are you okay?" He held her shoulders as they found a good resting point.

"Y-Yeah." Her hands were shaking, he gently took them in his own. "What am I going to do with you, Michael?" He opened his mouth to find a response, when the small woman leaned her forehead against his chest. Immediately, he wrapped his arms around her, breathing her in. It felt natural, it felt right. "I'll tell you why."

"Hm?" he closed his eyes as he sank to his knees, holding her in his lap as she continued to bleed and shake.

"I'll tell you why I'm here." He nodded, "My name is Federal Agent Riley Anderson-Pope. I know your brother is innocent, Michael. My unit knows he is. I'm here because I have unsuspecting connections to work here, in short, I'm at Fox River to ensure Lincoln's safety."

"That's not what I was expecting."

"I know." Her voice was a quiet whisper. If you guys are breaking out, you're going to need my help. Just tell me what you need, Michael, and I'll try to make it happen."

"And you tell me what you need." He whispered, holding her closer, burying his face into her hair.

"I need this to be real."

"It is." He found her lips, his stomach ached with the hungry kiss. Her hand was gentle on his jaw, her body hot against his. Her blood stained his cheeks, he slowly pulled away, finding the gray eyes in the dark. "I promise you, this is real." He rested his hand over hers on his jaw.

She didn't respond. Instead, soft lips captured his own.

•••

"Are you suggesting I am incapable of supervising the mysterious art of dry walling?" He heard Riley snap outside the door.

"That I am." Michael froze at the sound of Bellick's voice. "Now move it, Missy."

"In case you didn't know, there's donuts in the temporary break room. A little gift from the Warden for our hard work. I'd say they're probably almost gone by now." He heard Riley sigh. Sucre caught Michael's eye and gave him a knowing smile.

"P.I.'s almost over, come on." Riley slipped through the door.

"Hey Piggy," C-Note stood up, "Can't you be doin' more?"

"Inyay youryay eamsdray." Michael smiled down at his boots as the table was set up and Riley escorted them back.

"I will fuck you and kill you, not necessarily in that order, either." Michael froze as T-Bag spoke, he turned around slowly and stared at the convict. Riley's face was emotionless.

"Get moving, convict." With a snap, T-Bag let out a cry, "Come on. Get. Going." Her baton came down hard on his leg, dangerously close to his knee.

"Stay away from her." Michael stared through T-Bag's eyes.

•••

"Michael," Riley caught him by the arm. "I know what tonight is, and I'm going to do my best to lead them away. But. Here. I'll be out all night, looking for escapees. When I get home, I'll discover I forgot to lock my door and left my key on the counter. I'll realize I didn't go grocery shopping, and I'll have the sudden memory of donating some old ex's clothing. And maybe, at five in the morning, I'll suddenly be aware that I have company?"

"Riley,"

"The first fourty-eight hours are when you're at the easiest to catch. The scent is fresh, the distance is close. You're going to need rest. You and Linc, Sucre if needed." He stared into clear eyes, something cold was placed in his palm. "158 Knuckle Drive. It's a cabin."

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate this."

"Tell me tomorrow."

•••

He sat on a soft, green couch. Lincoln was pacing. "So she's an FBI agent who was part of a department dedicated to bringing evidence to my behalf?"

"Correct."

"So whoever framed me is going to be after her?"

"I believe so."

Michael soaked in the warmth of the fire and the cushions of the couch. His muscles ached from stress. The rain began, pattering on the roof of the cabin. "Think everyone is going to be okay?"

"Have some faith."

Sucre was walking around her house, looking at the mass of paintings on the walls. Five rolled around and Linc and Sucre were both asleep in what were clearly guest bedrooms. Flinching as the door opened, Michael steadied his breath. "Riley," She was soaking wet and covered in mud.

"You're safe." Her voice was exhausted. "I need a shower." Something was wrong, so he followed her.

"What's going on, Riles?" She took her boots off on a little mat and slid the top of her uniform off, revealing a rain-tightened gray shirt.

"I'm just worried. Would you come talk to me while I shower?"

"Of course." He followed her through the quaint little cabin into a rather large bathroom. The shower looked almost like something found in nature, blocked off by a frosted glass door.

"I feel selfish right now," she spoke over the water, "when's the last time you had a decent shower?"

"It's been a while." He laughed.

"Come on." Pausing, Michael wondered if he heard her right. Slowly, he pulled his shirt off and pulled the jeans away from him. Cautiously, he opened the door and stepped into the steam. Copper strands hid most of her body as she worked shampoo through it. "I'll even get your back." He smiled as hands gently rubbed a sweet smelling wash over his skin. Fingers traced lines of his tattoos.

For the first time in months, Michael relaxed, he dropped his head back into the shower and pulled Riley close. Water washed over their kiss, his hands draped over her muscled stomach and danced around her sides and chest. Little sounds escaped her as he deepened the kiss and gently moved her hair away from her breasts.

Checking her eyes for approval, he dropped to one knee, kissing her sides and biting her hips on the way down. "Michael," his name was a breeze, pressing his lips to her thigh, he glanced back up to heavy lidded eyes, and continued.

Soft sounds filled the steamy shower, he couldn't stop the slight smile that crossed his face when she pulled him to his feet. "Uh-uh," he whispered, pulling her out of the shower, "Tonight is for you."

She took him to her bedroom. The fireplace he started earlier had warmed the rain-chilled room. A warm smile spread across her lips as he pulled her up in his arms and laid her on the bed. Pulling her robe off, he straddled her and started in on a back rub. Her muscles were full of knots that pulled tiny moans out of her as he worked them into oblivion.

"Oh my god," he groaned as he laid on the bed, feeling the soft mattress contour to his back. Grabbing Riley, he pulled her close to him, nuzzling into her soft hair as her head came to rest on his tattooed chest.

"You still owe me dinner."

"I know."

"I can't wait."

"Me either." Sleep was pulling on his limbs, a hand found her hair, a quiet sigh escaped him before he fell asleep.

"Work?" He asked as she buttoned up a cream-white top.

"Unfortunately, it would seem eight convicts have escaped from Fox River Penitentiary."

"Oh," he raised his eyebrows, "that doesn't sound good."

"Not at all, I've been pulled out of Fox River and my unit is assigned to field work?"

"What kind?" He smiled, watching her fasten a holster on her left thigh.

"Trust me," she shrugged a dark brown, fitted blazer on, "it's not the kind of field work I want to be doing."

Chuckling, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her until hair was tickling his chest and her face was inches away. "Three weeks." He slipped an origami crane into her hand and kissed her forehead. "Just three weeks." Gray eyes matched his as she slid the crane into her blazer pocket and pressed her lips to his.

"Three weeks."

•••

"She's not coming." Michael muttered, pressing his hand against the window.

"Michael-"

"I really thought she would."

"Michael!" Linc yelled, he looked to his brother, walking over to the other window. A small figure was walking, a black pea coat covered what it was wearing, and a red umbrella was concealing the rest.

His heart was pounding as the figure walked to the fountain and sat on the edge. After two minutes, it stood and walked to the other side of the fountain and sat. "Come on," he whispered after another two minutes, watching as the figure stood again and threw a coin into the water.

He was running before the coin dropped, down the stairs, through the lobby, and into the streets. The figure was waiting in front of the fountain when he grabbed it by the waist and pulled it's head into his shoulder, "Riley," he whispered, his breath coming hard, his lips unable to stop kissing her head.

"Michael," her voice was choked up, with a single movement, he pulled her into his arms, the rain pounding on his shoulders and head, her umbrella dropped to the ground. Then he froze. Hair stood on end as ice slipped into his veins. "What happened to you?"

"I'm okay Michael." Healing bruises stood bright on her cheeks and around her eyes. Fading fingerprints poked above the collar of her coat. Her hair was short in places and touched her waist in others. A healing cut rested on the crest of her lips and ran to the bottom of her chin.

"I'll kill them."

"Hey, let's go inside."

Numb, he set her down and followed her inside. Once inside, she was pulled into a hug by Lincoln before she rested her peacoat on the bed. An entire handprint was left on her pale throat, and multiple bruises were yellowing down her arms. "Riley,"

"It's okay, Michael. Everything's okay now." She spoke quietly, pulling him into a hug that snapped him to her, he pulled her close, feeling her warmth, breathing in her sweet smell.

"Everything's okay." He whispered, closing his eyes as he enveloped a soft pair of lips.


End file.
